After a two-month absence, the apartment felt close and stuffy. But as soon as she opened the windows, a breeze blew in, carrying the peculiarly satisfying combination of scents that was so specially New York: the pungent aura of the small Indian restaurant around the corner, a hint of the flowers from the terrace across the street, the acrid smell of fumes from the Fifth Avenue buses, a suggestion of sea air from the Hudson River. For a few minutes Elizabeth breathed deeply and felt herself begin to unwind. Now that she was here, it was good to be home. The job in Italy had been another escape, another temporary respite. But never out of her mind was the realization that eventually she would have to go to court, as a prosecution witness against Ted.

She unpacked quickly and placed her plants in the sink. It was clear that the superintendent's wife had not honored her promise to water them regularly. After plucking away the dead leaves, she turned to the mail that was stacked on the dining-room table. Rapidly she skimmed through it, tossing out ads and coupons, separating personal letters from bills. She smiled eagerly at the beautiful handwriting on one envelope and the precise return address in the upper corner: Miss Dora Samuels, Cypress Point Spa, Pebble Beach , California . Sammy. But before she read that one, Elizabeth reluctantly opened the business-size envelope with the return address Office of the District Attorney.

The letter was brief. It was a confirmation that she would phone Assistant District Attorney William Murphy upon her return on August 29 and make an appointment to review her testimony.

Even reading the newspaper and giving Leila's address to the cabbie had not prepared her for the shock of this official notice. Her mouth went dry. The walls seemed to close in around her. The hours she had testified at the grand jury hearings flashed through her mind. The time she had fainted on the stand after being shown the pictures of Leila's body. Oh, God, she thought, it was starting all over again…

The phone rang. Her "Hello" was barely audible.

" Elizabeth," a voice boomed. "How are you? You're on my mind."

It was Min von Schreiber! Of all people! Elizabeth instantly felt wearier. Min had given Leila her first modeling job, and now she was married to an Austrian baron and owned the glamorous Cypress Point Spa in Pebble Beach, California. She was an old and dear friend; but Elizabeth didn't feel up to her today. Still, Min was one of the people Elizabeth could never say no to.

Elizabeth tried to sound cheerful. "I'm fine, Min. A little tired, maybe. I just got home a few minutes ago."

"Don't unpack. You're coming to the Spa tomorrow morning. There's a ticket waiting at the American Airlines counter. The usual flight. Jason will pick you up at the airport in San Francisco."

"Min, I can't."

"As myguest."

Elizabeth almost laughed. Leila had always said those were the three hardest words for Min to utter. "But, Min-"

"No 'buts.' When I saw you in Venice you looked too thin. That damn trial will be hell. So come. You need rest. You need pampering."

Elizabeth could see Min, her raven-black hair coiled around her head, always assuming in her imperious way that what she wanted was automatically granted. After more futile protests in which she listed all the reasons why she should not come, could not, she heard herself agreeing to Min's plans.

"Tomorrow, then. It will be good to see you, Min." She was smiling when she put the receiver down.

Three thousand miles away, Minna von Schreiber waited for the connection to break, then immediately began to dial another number. When she reached her party, she whispered, "You were right. It was easy. She agreed to come. Don't forget to act surprised when you see her."

Her husband entered the room as she was talking. He waited until the call was completed, then burst out, "You did invite her, then?"

Min looked up, defiantly. "Yes, I did."

Helmut von Schreiber frowned. His china-blue eyes darkened. "After all my warnings? Minna, Elizabeth could pull this house of cards down around our ears. By the end of the week, you will regret that invitation as you have never regretted anything in your life."

Elizabeth decided to get her call to the district attorney over with immediately. William Murphy was obviously glad to hear from her. "Miss Lange, I just started to sweat you out."

"I told you I'd be back today. I wouldn't have expected to find you in on Saturday."

"There's a lot of work. We definitely go to trial on September eighth."

"I read that."

"I'll need to review your testimony with you so it will be fresh in your mind."

"It's never not been in my mind," Elizabeth said.

"I understand. But I have to discuss the kind of questions the defense attorney will ask you. I suggest you come in on Monday for several hours and then let's plan to have long sessions next weekend. You will be around?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," she told him. "Can't we talk about everything on Friday?"

She was dismayed at the answer. "I'd rather have one preliminary meeting. It's only three o'clock. You could be down here in a cab in fifteen minutes."

Reluctantly she agreed. Glancing at Sammy's letter, she decided to wait until she came back to read it. At least it would be something to look forward to. Showering quickly, she twisted her hair into a topknot and put on a blue cotton jumpsuit and sandals.

Half an hour later, she was sitting across from the assistant district attorney in his crowded office. The furniture consisted of his desk, three chairs and a row of battleship-gray steel files. There were expandable cardboard files piled on his desk, on the floor and on top of the metal cabinets. William Murphy seemed unaware of the messiness of his work space-or else, Elizabeth thought, he had finally come to terms with what could not be changed.

A balding, chubby-faced man in his late thirties with a strong New York accent, Murphy conveyed an impression of keen intelligence and driving energy. After the grand jury hearings, he had told her that her testimony was the main reason Ted had been indicted. She knew he considered that high praise.

Now he opened a thick file: The People of the State of New York v. Andrew Edward Winters III. "I know how hard this is for you," he said. "You're going to be forced to relive your sister's death, and with that all the pain you experienced. And you're going to testify against a man you liked and trusted."

"Ted killed Leila; the man I knew doesn't exist."

"There are no 'ifs' in this case. He deprived your sister of her life; it's my job-with your help-to see that he's deprived of his freedom. The trial will be a terrible ordeal for you, but I promise that once it's over it will be easier to get on with your own life. After you are sworn, you will be asked to state your name. I know 'Lange' is your stage name. Be sure to tell the jury your legal name is LaSalle. Let's review your testimony again.

"You will be asked if you lived with your sister."

"No, when I left college I got my own apartment."

"Are your parents living?"

"No, my mother died three years after Leila and I came to New York, and I never knew my father."

"Now let's review again your testimony, starting with the day before the murder."

"I had been out of town for three months with a stock company… I got in on Friday night, March twenty-eighth, just in time to catch the last preview of Leila's play."